It's been such a hot dry summer here and for some reason I've been thinking about rain. That gentle soft rain that patters softly against windows and makes everything feel cozy and safe. The kind of rain that gives you permission to slow down and stay inside.That kind of rain is one of the most soothing sounds in the world. And there's science behind this. Rain creates what's called pink noise.A consistent sound that naturally calms our nervous system. It masks those jarring unpredictable noises that keep us alert and creates this beautiful auditory blanket that helps our minds settle. But there's something even deeper at work.Our ancestors sought shelter during rain. On some evolutionary level the sound of rain signals safety and protection to our primitive brain. It tells us we're secure inside while nature takes care of the world outside.I wanted to create a narrative that captures this feeling. That sense of peaceful refuge that comes with the sound of soft rain on windows. Tonight's story takes us to a pottery studio where the rhythm of rain perfectly complements the meditative work of shaping clay.There's something so naturally soothing about both. The repetitive patient work of pottery and the steady whisper of rain against glass. But first, my usual reminder.Please make sure you're somewhere safe to fall asleep. Preferably tucked into your comfortable bed. You'll find our full disclaimer in the show notes.And I've been absolutely delighted by all the messages I've received lately from listeners. Whether you comment on Spotify or find me on social media. I love hearing from you.Creating these episodes can be pretty solitary. But when you reach out, it reminds me that there is a whole community of us seeking better sleep together. Now let's take a moment to help your body settle into rest.Find the most comfortable position you can. Fluff up your pillow. Arrange your blanket.Do whatever feels right for you. And take your time with this. There's no rush tonight.When you're ready, take a slow deep breath in. And then exhale gently. Releasing any tension.Let's do that one more time together. Breathe in slowly. And exhale.Letting it flow out naturally. Notice how your body is already beginning to respond. Feel the weight of your head settling more deeply into your pillow.Your spine finding its most comfortable curve against the mattress. Your breathing is becoming slower and more rhythmic. Keep breathing.Slowly and naturally. As we visit Ari's pottery studio. Where the gentle rhythm of rain and clay will guide us both toward peaceful sleep.The first drops of rain began to tap gently against the tall windows of Ari's pottery studio. Just as he was centering his final piece of clay for the evening. He paused.His hands still cupping the cool damp clay on the wheel. And listened to the soft percussion beginning on the roof above. After three days of unseasonable heat.The approaching storm felt like a gift. Ari had been a potter for eight years now. And still there were few things that brought him more peace than working at his wheel while rain fell outside.The combination of the clay's responsiveness beneath his palms. And the steady rhythm of water against glass. Created a meditation he never found anywhere else.Not in his previous life as a carpenter. Not in the brief stint he tried as a graphic designer. And certainly not during those restless years when he bounced between jobs.He dipped his hands in the bowl of water beside his wheel. And felt the clay respond immediately. This was a piece he'd been planning for weeks.A large serving bowl commissioned by the couple who ran the bakery down the street. Ari pressed his foot gently against the pedal. And the wheel began its slow hypnotic rotation.He learned that pottery couldn't be rushed. The clay had its own rhythm. Its own willingness to cooperate.And forcing it only led to collapsed walls and frustration. His hands moved to the center of the spinning form. Pressing down with steady pressure.The clay was perfectly prepared. He'd wedged it that morning. Working out the air bubbles.And achieving the smooth consistent texture that would allow him to pull the walls up without cracking. The wheels gentle hum provided a constant bass note beneath the steady drumming of rain on the studio's roof. As he worked Ari's breathing naturally slowed to match the rhythm of the wheel. His shoulders which had been tense from the day's heat began to release. The combination of the clay's cool temperature against his warm palms. And the repetitive circular motion worked better than any meditation he'd ever tried.His hands calloused from years of construction work before he'd found pottery. Seemed made for this. Strong enough to center stubborn clay.Sensitive enough to feel the subtlest changes in the clay's willingness to move. He pulled the walls up slowly. His fingers working in perfect coordination.The bowl began to take shape. First a simple cylinder. Then gradually widening as he encouraged the clay.The curve outward. Rain was falling more steadily now. Creating a gentle white noise that seemed to muffle all the sounds from the street outside.A drop of water from his fingers fell onto the spinning clay. And was immediately absorbed. Darkening the gray surface for just a moment.Ari smiled at this small miracle that never ceased to amaze him. How the clay could take in water. Respond to pressure.And change shape while remaining essentially itself. The studio's lighting was deliberately soft. Track lights positioned to minimize harsh shadows.While providing enough illumination to see the subtle variations in the clay's surface. As evening deepened outside. And the rain continued.The warm light created an atmosphere of complete enclosure. As if the studio existed in its own private world. Ari reached for his wooden rib.A tool worn smooth by years of use. And began refining the bowl's curves. The rib glided along the clay surface with a soft scraping sound.Removing excess clay and creating precise profile he envisioned. Each pass of the tool made the form more definitive. More itself.He learned that the secret to good pottery wasn't just technical skill. Though that was essential. It was also about knowing when to stop. Recognizing the moment when the piece had found its true form. And resisting the urge to keep adjusting. Overworking the clay was one of the fastest ways to lose both the form and the spirit of a piece.The rain had settled into a steady rhythm now. Ari could hear it running down the gutters outside. The plants out there would be grateful.The heat wave had left even his drought-tolerant lavender looking stressed. As he worked Ari's mind wandered to the couple who had commissioned this bowl. He had watched them in their bakery.Working together with the same kind of wordless coordination he was experiencing now with the clay. The bowl was nearly complete now. Its walls risen to the height he'd planned.It's curved, gentle and inviting. Ari reached for his wire tool and prepared to cut the piece free from the wheel. This was always a moment of slight tension.No matter how many hundreds of pieces he'd made there was always the possibility that something could go wrong in this final step. He slipped the wire beneath the bowl and felt the piece free itself. Using both hands he carefully transferred the bowl to a wooden board where it would sit until the clay reached the leather hard stage.With the wheel now complete Ari sat back and really listened to the rain for the first time since he'd begun working. It drummed steadily against the windows with the kind of persistence that suggested it would continue for hours. Perfect weather for finishing up in the studio and settling in for a quiet evening.He cleaned his hands in the sink, feeling the clay wash away to reveal skin that was softer than when he'd started. One of the unexpected benefits of working with clay was how it conditioned his hands. The calluses from his construction days had softened over the years, replaced by a different kind of strength.Ari moved through the studio in his closing routine, checking the pieces on the shelves, ensuring that those in various stages of drying were covered appropriately. Some needed to dry quickly and were left exposed to the air, while others, more complex pieces, were wrapped in plastic to slow the drying process. He checked the kiln, which was cooling from yesterday's bisque firing.Tomorrow he would unload it, revealing how the first firing had transformed his pieces from fragile clay to permanent ceramic. It was always exciting to open a kiln, like Christmas morning. He opened a bottle of red wine, a Pinot Noir from the small vineyard just 20 minutes up the valley.The winemaker, Marcus, had the same dedication to his craft that Ari felt for pottery. Aging his wines in oak barrels he built himself. Ari had visited the vineyard last autumn and watched Marcus test the grapes with the same careful attention Ari gave to testing clay consistency.As he poured the wine, he stood at the window watching the rain. His reflection looked back at him from the dark glass, and he noticed how relaxed his face appeared. The slight tension lines around his eyes smoothed out during his time at the wheel.This was one of the reasons he chosen to make pottery his life's work. Not just because he loved creating beautiful functional objects, but because the process itself was healing. After years of feeling restless and unsettled, he'd finally found something that brought him peace.Ari carried his glass to the comfortable chair he kept in one corner of the studio. The chair was old leather, softened by years of use, and it welcomed his tired body with familiar comfort. He'd found it at an estate sale during his first year of pottery, and it had become as essential to his evening routine as the wheel itself.As he sipped his wine, he reviewed the evening's work. The bowl would need to dry for several days before he could trim it, removing excess clay from the bottom and refining its final shape. Then would come the first firing, followed by glazing.He was already imagining a soft sage green glaze that would complement the bakery's rustic aesthetic. The wine was perfect, smooth and earthy, with notes that reminded him somehow of the clay he'd worked with, both products of their local soil. The rain continued its gentle percussion against the windows, and Ari felt his eyelids growing heavy.The combination of the day's work, the wine's gentle warmth, and the soothing sound of rain was creating the perfect conditions for deep relaxation. He knew he should head inside to his small apartment attached to the studio, but for now he was content to simply sit and listen to the storm. His breathing had slowed to match the rhythm of the rain, and he noticed how completely relaxed his body had become. His hands, which had been working steadily for hours, rested peacefully in his lap. The studio around him felt like a sanctuary, filled with the fruits of his labor and the tools of his trade. Every piece on the shelves represented hours of focused work, moments of connection between his hands and the clay.Tomorrow would bring new projects, new challenges, new opportunities to create. But tonight it was only the rain, the gentle warmth of the wine, and the deep satisfaction of work well done. Ari rose from his chair and made one final check of the studio. He turned off the light, leaving only a small lamp near the door for security. The bowl he just completed sat in its place of honor, beginning its slow transformation from wet clay to finished ceramic. As he made his way to the door connecting the studio to his apartment, Ari paused to listen once more to the rain. It was the perfect soundtrack for sleep. Steady, peaceful, and completely natural. The last thing he did before leaving the studio was to touch the wheel where he'd been working.Tomorrow it would spin again, supporting new clay, helping create new forms. But tonight he could rest just as he could, both of them renewed by the day's work and ready for whatever tomorrow might bring. Ari turned off the final light and stepped through the doorway, leaving the studio to its peaceful darkness.Outside, the rain continued its gentle song against the windows. A lullaby for both Potter and clay, a promise of growth and renewal that would continue through the night. As we leave Ari to his well-earned rest, let yourself settle even more deeply into your own sanctuary of sleep. Notice how your breathing has found the same steady rhythm as Ari's pottery wheel. Slow, hypnotic, perfectly measured. Each breath draws you deeper into relaxation. Each exhale releases you further from the day's concerns. Feel the wonderful support of your bed beneath you. How perfectly it cradles your body, conforming to every curve, holding you with such gentle care.Your body has worked so faithfully throughout the day, carrying you from task to task. And now it deserves this gift of complete rest. Feel how your muscles are releasing their hold on the day.Your shoulders dropping away from your ears, heavy and still. Even your hands have uncurled, fingers soft and open. This is what true relaxation feels like.Not just the absence of tension, but the presence of deep, nurturing calm. The busy concerns of daylight have no power here in this space of rest. They dissolve like mist in the morning sun, leaving only peace behind.Notice how heavy your eyelids have become, how good it feels to let them close and stay closed. Behind them, there is only gentle darkness. Your mind is growing quieter with each breath.Each moment, like the Potter's studio, settling into evening silence. This is your time now. Time to let go completely. Time to trust in your body's ancient wisdom that knows exactly how to carry you into sleep. Your bed has become a cloud, and you are floating gently downward. There is nothing you need to do now except rest. Nothing you need to think about or plan. The rain that soothed Ari continues to fall somewhere in the quiet chambers of your mind, washing away any remaining traces of the day's stress. You are held as safely as he was in his studio sanctuary - protected, peaceful, ready for the deepest rest. Welcome it with the same gratitude Ari felt for his evening rain.